Sunday, January 30, 2005
I'm going to Boracay for a week tomorrow. It's for work and not play (as far as "work" can really be "work" in Boracay). I'm bringing a ton of gadgets with me and they better still be working and not erroded by the salt air by the time I get back.
Iitim nanaman ako. Haaay. I'm already so charred from Africa. By the time I get back from the beach, I will be able to qualify for Ms. Ethiopia 2005 (my uncle already tells me Iook Ethiopian because I'm so long and skinny).
Ananda better still know who I am by the time I get back. :-(
Friday, January 28, 2005
words of wisdom (unless anybody begs to differ)
I got a few questions from readers asking how it is I managed to be friends with my exes. This put me into deep thought. How did I manage to overcome what used to be such consuming dramas? Well, it certainly wasn't a piece of cake. All the relationships that ever mattered to me ended either very painfully and/or nightmarishly (think of the worst case scenario times ten! Haha!)
It certainly didn't happen right away. It took years to be exact. Years to get over the hatred, then the bitterness, then the why-why-why, then the what-if, and finally, the awkwardness. It was the kind of journey wherein you take two steps forward and then one step backward (okay, sometimes four steps backward haha).
I thought I'd share some good, hard-earned, personal advice. These are things I learned from a first-hand basis. Here goes, How To Be Friends With An Ex/ Forgive The Past:
** Before you read my advice, it must be understood that you cannot be friends with an ex and be hung up on him at the same time. This is not friendship, this is you pursuing an addiction. This is you clinging on to him because you're afraid to let him go, and that's not the same as friendship. If you still want him back, I suggest you stay away unless you are ready to be real friends with him (meaning, no ulterior motives).
1) Stop waiting for him to provide the answers to your questions.Okay, so maybe he mercilessly broke your heart, or did something so hurtful that it's almost unspeakable. Wounded and confused, you desperately want answers. You set up a serious meeting in quiet place so you can talk. You drop the question and ask him why, how could he have done this to you, bla, bla. And he gives you an answer... and it's a lame answer. He says sorry and it still doesn't seem to hit the spot.
Whether you believe him or not, I advise you to listen to whatever he says and leave it at that. That answer is as good as any other. It's normal to want answers, but if it's been a year and you're still pestering him for explanations on why he hurt you/ broke up with you, then it's definitely time to just walk away.
In any case, you don't really have to know why. Wether you knew the real answer or not, chances are you'd still be miserable anyway. And chances are, he probably doesn't really have an answer either.
Maybe you desperately want him to say those magic words (you don't know what they are but you'll know it when you hear them) that will heal you and make you feel better. But I must warn you that waiting for him to deliver can turn into a serious obsession. Don't delay your own healing and growth by waiting around for him to make amends. There'll come a time when you'll realize the answer doesn't really matter anymore.
2) It's not about you.Sorry to downplay what happened between the two of you, but maybe all of this isn't really about you at all. So maybe you feel that you had a love so great, and wonderful, and overwhelming. Maybe at one point you even felt like this was it, at last, you've found the one!... before he did something stupid and it all came down in shambles.
Yes, he hurt you, badly and deliberately but it is at this point when it really helps to look at things from a much bigger picture. Remember, you are someone who merely passed through his life, at a specific time, when he had a specific mindset, and specific desires, conflicts, problems, and insecurities. As it was, you were there at a precise point when he was very confused, or angsty, or insensitive. It could have been someone else, but it was you.
It's not bad luck. It's just the way it is. As Cynthia Alexander put it, "we always intertwine". We affect each other with our actions.
Whatever it is he did to you, whether he cheated on you, lied to you, called you names, hit you, etc., it's all 90% about him, and only 10% about you. So don't take it personally. This person tried to do what he felt was best amidst his confusion, using the knowledge he had at that time, while trying to deal with his own problems. This is not really something he did to you. It was a reaction to something inside of him, and you just happened to be there to be the recipient... the shock absorber. It's always the people closest to us who has to bear with our state of being (and being his girlfriend at that time meant that you two were pretty close).
Back then, I took alot of things an ex said personally and it really messed me up bigtime. But after a time, I realized that all the hurtful things he said was mostly his own fear and anger talking, and had very little to do with me. I just happened to be in a relationship with him at a very desperate time in his life and had to take it. (Besides, I know he is truly sorry. At least I'm lucky enough to have received an apology from him more than once).
3) He's not a monster out to get you, or ruin your life.Not a monster, but a human being who made a mistake. Maybe a huge, horrible, stupid, idiotic, (seemingly) unforgivable mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. We all do what we feel is best, but we are in no way infallible and are all bound to screw up majorly some time in our lives. One day, when he is wiser, he will realize the error of his ways and feel deeply sorry. And if he never grows wiser, then why even make it your problem? Don't hate him, feel sorry for him (and stay away).
In the end, no matter how big a mistake someone may make, remember that every one of us is good, lovable, and worthy and capable of endless learning and change. He won't be the way he is forever.
4) You can't really love the one you're with if you hate someone else.I was single for two straight years before I finally thought I was ready to enter a new relationship. After being bitter and paranoid for so long, I decided I would get into a new one for only the right reasons. I knew what the wrong reasons were: spite, loneliness, and insecurity. It's all too tempting to be with someone for the wrong reasons, especially if you see The Ex gallavanting around town with his new girlfriend in tow.
Sensing the possibility of getting into a relationship for the wrong reasons, I vowed I wouldn't subject someone else to such unfairness. I realized that baggage from old relationships can really taint the way you love someone, and that the only way I could be truly present in my new relationship was to heal the past. I had to make room in my heart for a new person.
So I made a very conscious decision to forgive. I realized that hate, after it goes on for awhile, becomes a pattern, a routine. In order to break this routine, I had to deliberately change my mental patterns. I changed the way I thought about the past. I even controlled the way I spoke about the past. This meant not allowing myself to indulge in the all-too-easy, all-too-familiar habit of wallowing in bitterness, and no longer talking sh*t about exes, not even to my closest friends. Whenever a bad memory would pop into my head, I'd veer away from it, or change the way I thought about it altogether.
Quitting hatred is like quitting smoking. Both hate and smoking are addicting, both are toxic to your being, and the best and only way to stop it is to quit cold turkey. And both are the same in a sense that you'll never really be healthy if you're hooked on them. You can exercise and eat healthy food everyday, but if you're a smoker, then you're not healthy, period. Same with hate. You can feel like you love the one you're with, but if you've got hate running through your veins, then your relationship isn't as healthy as it could and should be. You'll only love comparatively to the person you hate, and that's not really love at all.
Okay enough of that. :-p These are the things I learned from experience. Don't take my word for it unless you feel it rings true. Obviously, I was pretty psycho and obsessed back then to have to have learned all of this... sheesh. I was pretty scary all right.
I'll end this one with something I learned in Philosophy 101. It went something like this: True acceptance is characterized by joyful laughter. Take note, joyful laughter, not bitter laughter. When you can laugh genuinely at past misfortunes, then you'll know you've truly forgiven and learned what you had to learn.
And that, my friends, is my 2 centavos worth.
p.s. I didn't actually give an answer as to how I became friends with my exes. I guess the right time just came. After awhile, you'll just feel that stewing over the past is boring, and dreary, and meaningless and you won't even think about it when you cross paths with the ex. You'll surprise yourself.
as promised
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at 1:51 AM 33 Comments!
Monday, January 24, 2005
the blues
I have the kind of personality type that makes me susceptible to bouts of brooding: brooding over the past, brooding over the present, brooding over the future I imagine will be in my head. In Tagalog, it's called sinusumpong or just plain nagsusungit. Thankfully, at age 21, I've mellowed down quite considerably. I used to be much worse during my college years which, when I really think about, isn't so very far away. During that time, I would totally let these moods take control and lay me to waste.
I'm writing about this because I am in one of my brooding moods. I and another person got a little picon with each other today, and I'm trying with all my willpower to reel myself in from the downward spiral of depression this may possibly lead me through. I know myself. This has happened a thousand times before. I'm configured this way. It can be triggered by a little picon, a little tampo, a little sama ng loob, a little loneliness... even a little boredom can trigger this. It's such a familiar feeling that I'm starting to not take myself seriously anymore, which is good thing. Moods like this can only get better or worse. I can choose to soothe myself, take it lightly like that, or let it all come crashing down and turn into a full-blown depressive episode.
I hate it when I get into these moods. It's a kind of stagnation more than anything else. But doing all this writing makes it better.
growing up
Life is moving faster than ever now. I can't help but look back and see how much I've grown up, and also how much I haven't (and should've) grown up. Sometimes I feel like I'm still reeling from college being over and this is all some kind of pretend-reality, like how we used to play house as kids. I see now what Ms. Parco said about the human spirit remaining undefined so long as you're not committed to anything. Bla, bla, bla. That's what you get for studying in a Jesuit institution.
More than ever dreams seem impossible and far away. What I thought I once was never really was in the first place.
Anyway, back to growing up. I know I've grown up because:
1) I've learned how to say sorry, and to say it first. This might sound infantile to some of you, seeing as I'm 21 and I've only yet learned the meaning of sorry. Sure, it's easy to say sorry when you accidentally trip someone, hit someone, or spill coffee on someone. But saying sorry raises itself to a whole new level when it means saying sorry to your parents, your boyfriend, your siblings, or people you've known since you were a toddler. I'm talking about that kind of sorry. Maybe I learned it a little late, but keep in mind that some people never learn at all.
2) I've learned how to control my bad moods. Well, since Christmas day at least, when I was truly in a sad, and depressed mood but managed to keep a smile on my face and even managed to spread the Season's cheer. It was only afterwards when I allowed myself to break down. Normally, I'd be too selfish to wait.
3) I can be friends with my exes, and I mean real friends and not "friends-because-we're-still-hung-up-on-each-other" friends. This, for me, is a very clear indication of how much I've grown up. Looking back, I realize that ex-boyfriend drama use to consume much of my existence. Now I can actually hang out with these people, have genuinely good, nice conversations without a trace of awkwardness, and it'll just be cool like that. Steady.
Exes often have trouble finding that delicate balance of how to relate to each other after the break-up. It feels wrong to act overly-familiar (even though you undeniably know so much about each other), and it feels wrong to pretend like you don't know each other. Well, you know you're over it all when you don't even have to think about it. You just talk!
4)I've been keeping track of my expenses. 'Nuff said. I looked at all my old receipts and was horrified to find how much of my money went into really petty things, and into meals that didn't even taste good.
5)In arguments, I've started really listening to what other people say instead of just hearing myself talk. Again, it may sound infantile that I'm only learning this now. But yet again, some people never learn to listen.
6)I've learned that sentimentality, if left to dominate, can really hold you down and delay your growth. Sometimes you just have to let go. Free fall. Stop living in the past and wake up to the now.
I know haven't grown up because:
1) I'm still scared sh*t of driving, even though I know how. I'm scared. Scared, scared, scared.
2) I still don't know how to handle my own bank accounts which I will learn this month!!!
3) I can't commute because my parents never allowed me to which is understandable in this city where jeepney hold-ups happen everyday, and cab drivers sedate female passengers with chemicals in the air freshener before taking them to an empty lot and raping them (so I've read). Instead of making me feel safer, this rule against commuting has actually created a deep fear and distrust of people on the street. Even tricycle drivers. Sometime's I wonder if I'm overly, ridiculously paranoid.
I think I will wait for Australia before I learn to commute. :-p
where are you going, little girl?
I made a drawing.
Kids are so FAT!!! I sometimes feel the urge to bite my niece.
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Friday, January 21, 2005
ang ilaw ng tahanan
Well, the colors are actually much brighter than this, and the image is much bigger, but here it is:
My lola, Alicia Y. Mabanta, one of the most elegant women to ever live. I'm guessing she was about 16 in the photo I copied of her to make the digi-painting (above).
My lola was and still is one of my style idols. She's as delicate and irresistibly beautiful as an old-fashioned, Hollywood actress in every single old sepia photo I ever saw of her. Her hair, her smile, was always perfect, and she had such graceful hands. She was a model which explains the many super, fabulous, to-die-for gowns she wore in so many of her pictures, and not only donned designer, couture creations (there was no such thing as RTW yet then) but was also the muse for two of our National Artists, Botong Francisco and Edades. They both did her portrait, painting her in a Muslim costume. Even in her old age, she still wore these fabulous tailored suits and had pretty shoes (high heels) and accessories.
Even my lolo, after being married to her for 50 years, can't help but get this dreamy look in his eye when I asked him how he met her. He can't tell the story without recounting how beautiful she was, how stylish, how elegant, how charming, how sociable she was. She was well-traveled, well-schooled (UST Fine Arts), and somewhat of a society girl. Even on her deathbed, fading away from cancer of the bile duct, I heard him say to her, "You're still the most beautiful among them all".
But I think what made my lola so beautiful was her kindess. She was such a warm and welcoming person, so loving and thoughtful to everyone around her. I lived a block away from her all my life, and she would pay us a visit, unanounced, almost every other day just to see how we were doing. She always had a smile for her grandchildren, and a prayer for everyone else. She was compassionate, and she loved beauty, which explains why in the last fifteen or so years of her life, she painted prolifickly. She was a Chinese painter, and she made every single one of her grandchildren their own personal painting. Until now, I imagine her heaven to be one of her rocky mountain landscapes, cold and peaceful. I imagine her standing there, happy amidst waterfalls, acacias, and curls of mist.
I told her just before she died, "Ikaw ang ilaw ng tahanan" which made her smile. So when my mother, who is a potter, made her her urn, she inscribed "Ilaw ng Tahanan" on it. I think my lola was even able to see the urn before she died.
After she passed away, we collated as many of her works as we possibly could and she had a grand, posthumus exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We even exhibited her painting desk, the one she spent so many hours on amidst jars of ink and water. I used to sometimes sit with her at that table, and she'd give me my own sheet of rice paper to draw on. How I treasure those memories with my lola. I will always associate the smell of the Chinese ink with her, the tinkling sound of the jars when she would stir the water with her brush, the distinct smell of freshly unfurled rice paper.
I haven't been back to her studio in about two years. It was a small room she had built behind her house. Sometimes I wonder if all her art books, and brushes, and rolls of paper are still there, gathering dust, growing mold. I always imagine that the faintest outline of her spirit might still be lingering there. I know that if I go back there, the memories will come flooding back, vivid and crystal clear.
I don't have to say writing this made me all teary and sniffly. I cannot contain everything I miss about my lola in one entry. Perhaps there will be many more.
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Monday, January 17, 2005
intuos lovin'
After I finally figured out the crucial difference between "pen mode" and "mouse mode", here's drawing drawing number 1 from the new Intuos.
And drawing number 2 is of my niece sleeping.
God, this is harder than I thought. I'm still quite pathetic at this digital pen thing. Still getting used to the pen's sensitivity and drawing on a blank tablet. But it's fun! I looooove it!
most outrageous quote since the year began
"There's a war on. Bad things happen."
- Charles Graner, after being asked if he felt remorse over the abuse of Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib.
That is the most sickening excuse. Things like that don't just happen. Stacking prisoners into a human pyramid, forcing them to masturbate, and taking pictures of them (warning: if you haven't seen these, view them at your own risk) with Mr. Graner grinning in the foreground isn't something that just "happens".
And if any of you want to justify these tortures, keep the hell away from my comment box. In fact, get off this planet.
ang munting prinsipe
In accordance with my New Year's resolution of brushing up on my Tagalog, I bought myself a copy of Antoine de Saint-Exupery's 'The Little Prince' translated in Filipino. It's not exactly advanced reading, but it's definitely a good start and way more advanced than Zsa Zsa Zaturnnah which is the only Tagalog publication I've read in a year... well, aside from those 15 peso "Golden Romance" novels they sell in National Bookstore that Nino likes to buy me as joke.
I'm really, really ashamed that I grew up in this country without ever learning how to speak Tagalog fluently. Sure, I can carry on a conversation with someone in Tagalog, I can enumerate the events of my day, order in a restaurant, tell the tricycle driver where I want to be dropped off, without any trouble at all.
The problem is, a 4th grader is perfectly capable of doing all I mentioned above, and if you're 21 and your Tagalog skills are still limited to ordering in restaurants and buying candy at the sari-sari store, then something is definitely wrong. I've struggled with Tagalog since gradeschool, always the butt of jokes in Filipino class because of my lousy pronunciation, and because I'd always interchange words.
I took 3 semesters of Philosophy in Tagalog during my Ateneo days, and I found myself always frustrated and unable to express my views on whatever we were discussing because my Tagalog was so limited. Not only was it embarrassing, but I could've gotten much higher grades in Philosophy.
The teachers did not go easy on me. To them, if I couldn't speak Tagalog, then it was my problem not theirs, and I knew they were right. I grew up in an English-speaking household, and as far as I know, my English was always advanced growing up. But I feel now that it's my responsibility to know Tagalog.
I don't know if this is some kind of sudden nationalistic streak, or if it's an artistic one. My main goal is to actually be able to write in Tagalog. It's such an expressive language. It can be warm, but it can also be silly and sarcastic. It has a distinct flavor, and a crisp texture. It's got soul. I love songs well-written in Tagalog. I love it when people write in Tagalog.
So to my old Tagalog Philosophy teachers, if you (still) read my blog, I am going to learn to speak Tagalog well. I want to use words like datapwat in my everyday conversations!!! :-p Maybe that's pushing it too far (especially since I confess to not really know the meaning of datapwat), but I want to sound intelligent when I speak in Tagalog.
Is that too high an ambition? Let's see.
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Saturday, January 15, 2005
a lovely present
I arrived home late last evening, tired and ready to collapse into bed, only to find a large package wrapped in white plastic waiting for me.
I love packages! The site of a Fed Ex van stopping outside our house excites me. I get packages only once in a blue moon, but there's always that slim chance it just might be for me.
Anyway, I ripped open the plastic to find what looked like several yards of cloth, baby pink and designed with cherry blossoms and geishas, folded and wrapped in plastic. I unfolded it and found that it was actually a beautiful yukata. A yukata looks much like a kimono but I suspect it must be different because otherwise, they'd call it the same thing, right?
Perhaps the person who sent me this beautiful present, Diane might be able to explain. She got the yukata in Japan!
I was so thrilled, I put it on immediately and fell in love with it. It's comfy too. I want to lounge in it the whole day (which is what I did this afternoon!).
There was noone around to take a picture of me in it, so I had to use my dressing-table mirror with pictures of Nino and Razorback stuck on to it. I love it, Diane! Thanks you once again for such a special gift. ;-) I'll try to make your template extra special in return.
and speaking of gifts...
... as I tried on the yukata last night, I realized what a crazy, wild, blessing this blog has been. It started out as a hobby, an excuse to write, a search for an audience to read what I write. But never did I imagine I'd be getting 700+ hits a day, neither did I ever think people would actually devote themselves to reading anything I wrote.
Since I started this blog, I have received the following items from some of my readers, out of the sheer kindess of their hearts:
a) My favorite Dr. Seuss book, "Happy Birthday To You!" from Maricar.
b) A lovely painting of a dragonfly from and by Rene Enriquez.
c) Template help and advice from various people.
d) Tons of Meiji bars from Nino, Jace (who also gave me cookies!), Igiboo, and Charlene.
e) Lemon bars from Cat, in exchange for her template (plus free Zips in the future :-))
f) A CD from Mikoid and one to come from MJ.
g) Free webspace from Ate Sienna.
I feel so blessed to have been the recipient of all these acts of kindness. Plus of course, there's the people who care enough to comment on my posts, especially when it is to answer my questions, to give advice, support, helpful links, or just beautiful insights.
I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of you. (Diane, your yukata made me all touchy-feely).
other points of interest
Nino has a bass neck autographed by the bassist of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. It's going to be forged into a real bass one day.
Ain't that rad?
He leaves for the Sinulog today. I was supposed to go, too :-( Darn.
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Wednesday, January 12, 2005
to my readers from down-under,
If you could please take some time out to answer some questions for me, I will be very grateful.
- I want to know what the good Australian universities are, and what are the general costs of going to university, both degree and MBA. .
- I want to know what kind of jobs students usually get, and what kind of jobs people in the 21-25 age bracket get.
- I want to know what Australians' attitudes are like towards minorities (i.e. Filipinos), and what kinds of jobs minorities get (realistically).
- What is a TAFE and is it credited when applying for work and schools?
- Should a 20-something Filipino girl, 5 feet and 7.5 inches in height even hope to find any modeling jobs there? (I'm just weighing my money-making options).
- What's the best place to live for someone who likes warmth and sunshine? Sydney? Melbourne?
- What kind of job would an ex-veejay-part-time-host-model who can draw, paint, write, sing, act, and do basic graphic design hope to get there? (because that's all I really know how to do...)
- And I forgot to mention that I have a degree in AB Communications. That's like mass media.
Okay here's the deal: I'm moving to Australia come March 2006. I've known it since high school. My family sent in the papers to be processed and we got our VISA about 4 years ago. 2006 is our cut-off date for moving there and we have to stay there for 2 years straight to get our Australian citizenships.
You're probably asking why, where did this all come from, why have I never mentioned it, bla bla bla. The answer is, I don't know, and I'm trying to find an answer myself. Why do we want to be Australian? I don't know. The only thing I can answer is why I've never mentioned it before: because whenever anyone mentions it, whether it's my father, my sister, my boyfriend, or my uncle, I start getting this heavy, depressed feeling right at the pit of my stomach. It makes sense then why I've been avoiding the topic for a long time, years even, although I probably should have been more vocal and participative about this whole thing from the very start.
But alas, what all began in theory years ago is fast becoming a reality. We are near our cut-off moving date, meaning we have to move by March 2006 or we miss our chance forever which is a bad thing... I guess.
Despite my obvious unwillingness to do it, I know I'm going to do it anyway. I know my parents worked hard to open this door of opportunities for me and I don't want to say I didn't so much as try to see what's beyond that door.
It's hard though. Among all the members of my family, it makes the least sense to me why I should become an Australian. My parents have always wanted to live there, fresh air, clean surroundings, good medical care for my mom, etc. My sister has a baby who will undoubtedly flourish in the clean Australian air and healthy food, and a make-up career that is sure to pick up in some Australian publication. My brother will be ready for college as soon as we move, and he definitely would rather go to school there than in the Philippines. Who wouldn't want to study abroad?
And me... what am I going to do there? Work as a store clerk? A shoe saleslady? An ice-cream scooper?
But maybe that's just me being bratty just because I've never had an "ordinary" job, what with all this hosting, and modeling, and "racket" that I do to bring in income. I admit, they are very privileged jobs. I'm lucky to have been able to do these things for now. I've always known it wouldn't last. Besides, what makes me believe I won't ever be spared from more menial work?
Not that menial work is bad. It's good for one's character to experience this kind of work, teaches one humility, and discipline, and the value of work. Neither am I incredibly attached to modeling or coming out on TV. It's just hard to leave for a place to be something less than what I know I could be here, especially when I know I could make more money here. Not that money is everything. If that were so, I'd be working in a call center or in some corporate job I'm unhappy in. I do plan to do "real" work someday, if not soon.
So what's bothering me so much then?
My sister told me last month that I'm too attached to certain things, places, people, my friends. Although it's true that I am attached (who isn't?), I don't think that's enough to stop me from moving either. I know all my friends will eventually leave the country also to pursue their own seperate destinies. In our 20s, it's the right age for doing so. As for being attached to places, there'll be new places there.
Maybe it's because I feel that everything I want to be, if not the best of what I want to be, I can be right here. Is it wrong to be happy where you are? Is it wrong to not want to leave this place, and to not hate this country (as so many of it's residents do?), and to see potential right where you are? What if I know I can make changes right where I am? What if I know I can help people right where I am?
If I leave the Philippines for two years, will those plans and opportunities dissolve and forever be beyond my reach? What if I decide to come back, only to find my chances have passed me by?
Then again, what do I know? Maybe there's something in store for me in Australia. I've only been to Australia once, on a 9-day trip. It was cold and I couldn't understand anyone. It was a pretty country but I didn't really feel like I wanted to live there. Then again, what's 9 days? Staying there for 9 days is not the same as living there.
Another thing I'm afraid of is being part of an ethnic minority, being the foreigner who can't speak with an Australian accent (or understand anyone for that matter), and possibly experiencing discrimination, and always being that one piece that never really melts in the cultural melting pot.
And yes, I am afraid to leave behind someone I love. Go on elders, give me the whole speech, tell me I'm young and that I can afford to throw my life away at every second and leave behind anything or anyone that is ever dear to me because when you're young you have so many opportunities and you'll meet so many other people and you can do anything and, oh, how you wished you had waited a little longer before working/ settling down/ getting "serious" with life, bla bla bla.
I've heard it before and I'm not into throwing what I truly value away for the sole reason of being young. I can be young and still know what is important to me. In fact, isn't it a good thing to know what's important to you despite being young?
The more I rant, the more you probably want to ask, so why am I going to do it anyway? I have a reason.
Because I've gotten too comfortable here. Because I grew up in this country spoiled, and sheltered, and privileged, and babied, like any other higher-middle-class Filipina. I may have plans to execute my hopes and dreams here, but I'll never be able to do any of it if I don't grow up first.
I grew up in a big house, in a big room, with too many clothes, and too many toys, and too many things I don't really need or want. In Australia, I'll be living in a rented house probably 1/4 the size of this one. I'll have a tiny room, and it will be hell, but it will teach me to be happy with little.
I grew up being waited upon by maids like alot of other Filipinos. When I make a mess, most of the time there is someone to pick up after it. When I want food there's someone to cook it. When I want to get somewhere, there'll be someone to drive me there. We even have a secretary who manages all our accounts.
I've managed to get most of my jobs through charm, wit, and face value. In Australia I'll be a nobody and will have to start from bottom.
In Australia, it'll be all up to me. No more relying on people to do things I should be doing on my own. Time to take initiative. Time to be in charge of my own life, my own things. It's hard to leave a place you're so comfortable in. But when you realize you're stuck in a rut, then you know you need to get moving.
I read a quote somwhere that said "What doesn't challenge you will make you weaker". I think that's precisely what's happened to me here. There's a better version of me waiting in Australia, an Ala who will have drive, confidence, survival skills, chutzpah, independence. When you're trying to find yourself in a new place, there's no other way to go. You'll have to summon those things from inside of yourself.
At the very least, that's what I'll gain from living in Australia for two years. Then when I get back, maybe I'll be better equipped to do what I really want to do. I'll be a better person. At the very least.
What I just wrote doesn't really have any structure. It's really just all the thoughts and worries I've been keeping to myself for more than a year. I know alot of my readers are Filipinos who did the exact same thing I'm about to do and are now living abroad. Maybe alot of you will be able to relate to my sentiments.
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Monday, January 10, 2005
muta woman no more
I had my first clear eye morning for the first time in more than a week. Thanks to my tito Butch, I now have medication for my afflicted eyes. I swear if not for him, I'd probably be dead by now, killed by some of the illnesses I've gotten within the past few years. I'm the type who won't take any medication till the last minute because I'm worrying about other things and would rather rely on my body's innate healing powers to recover. In some instances, I probably wouldn't go for any medication at all if not for my tito Butch noticing something wrong with me. He's taken me to so many different kinds of doctors for so many different kinds of things, ears, throat, skin, everything. If not for him, my mom would still be taking me to the pedia, and she'd still be the only doctor I know.
So thank you to tito Butch for the eyedrops! I have really bad aim so I let Nino squirt it in for me. I hold my eyelid open and lie on a flat surface and he applies the drops. We must look really weird doing it.
But at last, goodbye to crusty mornings!
My family has gone through a sore-eyes trauma in the past, and it is quite a tale to tell. The tale unfolds in 1994 when my dad came home from a charity visit to an orphanage, (or other such places where children are penned in together to breed disease amongst themselves. Like classrooms. Ick.). A few days later, he got sore eyes. He said it got it from a kid he held with stuff coming out of his eye.
Now, all of us have gotten sore eyes at one time or another in the past, and usually simple home remedies like cleansing the eye in the juice of boiled bayabas leaves does the trick in a few days. Sore eyes isn't that bad! It gives you crusty eyes in the morning but otherwise, it's just like the common cold and goes away on it's own... or so we thought.
We started getting worried when my dad's eyes became raw, puffy, and angrily red. We also started worrying when he'd complain about his eye throbbing, pulsating. He said it was painful. Even light hurt it.
The true horror came when his eyes started bleeding! It was a rare and virulent strain of sore eyes that caused eye hemorrage! My dad soon recovered after much ado... but little did we know that it was just the beginning.
While my dad was sick, we took extra measures not to catch his disease. We kept bottles of alcohol handy on every counter and table top so we could cleanse our hands as needed. Alack, as quoted by some guy in "Jurassic Park": Life finds a way. And in this case, the tiny sore-eyes- bacteria evicted out of my dad's eyes found a new, comfortable home in another set of eyes: mine. And my sister's too.
She actually got it first, and I followed suit a few days later. At first it didn't look like it was going to be that bad. As we packed our suitcases for a Bali trip we were going on (my Tito Butch and Tita Ollie were to be married there), we really didn't worry much. It was the calm before the storm, the deep, silent breath the ocean takes before unleashing the tsunami. When we go to Bali, all hell broke loose.
My eyes were red, puffy, and they hurt. Bad. Everything irritated it: dust, wind, and most especially, light. Even the light seeping out from the crack under the doorway at night made it hurt so bad. I would wake up night from the pain of it throbbing. It felt like there was a war going on between my optic nerves and the disease. I kept a bucket of ice by my bed and sometimes I'd just press the icecubes straight unto the eye to make it stop hurting. Same went for my sister. But the mistake I made, that she thankfully didn't, was to rub the eye ball with kleenex and wet face towels in an attempt to clean/ scratch it.
So after marching down the aisle as a puffy-eyed bridesmaid in my tita's wedding, Erica went home almost completely recovered while I had a raging fever from the infection.
I mentioned earlier that all hell broke loose in Bali, but I take it back. Here is where the wrath of Satan was truly unleashed on me. My mom finally took me to see an eye doctor. He pointed a special flashlight at my eyeball and gasped in horror at what he saw, a scratched, wounded, suffering eyeball. Eyeball scratches are invisivle to the human eye which is why you need thye special light for it.
Before I knew it, he had squeezed anaesthesia drops into my eyeball, and strapped my head into a harness so I couldn't move. I didn't know what was happening but I do recall a pair of metal tweezers heading straight for my eyeball and picking at it's surface, and I felt a strange sensation like someone peeling off some very sticky scotch tape. It was numb so it didn't hurt and I was laughing nervously the whole time. Whatever it is he had picked off my eyeball, he threw it in the garbage, and I went home with a gauze patch over my right eye.
For the next 2 weeks, I lived in my room like a vampire, with the lights off, the curtains drawn, and the doors closed, to make it as dark as possible. My maid would come in four times a day to change my eye patch and to administer my medication: 3 different kinds of eye drops, and an eye ointment (to be rubbed unto the surface of the eyeball). Sometimes I would go down and play the piano since I wasn't allowed to have any friends over. Little did I know that my father, in secrecy so as not to frighten his daughter, would pray for me everyday because he believed I might truly be in danger of losing my sight permanently. Were he to have a blind daughter, he prayed, may it not be too hard on me.
Well, I didn't go blind obviously. I recovered and soon I was able to face the daylight again. I had that eye-patch on for a really long time, and to this day, my right eyeball has an invisible scar that makes it blurrier than my other eye. After so many years, the difference is now minimal, and I still pretty much have perfect 20-20 vision.
And that little operation the doc performed on me? It turned out to be the removal of part of my cornea, the outer film of my eye. How's that for a wild experience? This is my first sore eyes since that extreme case, and I gotta say, this is like heaven compared to that ordeal. But now you know how the very mention of sore eyes can make a shudder pass through the members of the Paredes household.
Muta Woman no more!
puppy love
Our dog Hailey gave birth to 4 puppies last December 26! We lost one of them but the other 3 are alive and healthy. The vet came over yesterday to deworm them and I was surprised to find them with their eyes open already! Just last week they were blind, squriming, squeaking whelps. Now they have sweet, little brown eyes! So cute! I'm so excited to see them grow.
The mother is a Bichon Havanese and the father is a Yorkie so it should be really interesting to see how they turn out. Pictures to come!
They just might replace Ananda as my everyday kalaro. Then again maybe not. :-)
the fruits of my labor
My dad's newly updated blog template here. It may take a while for the page to load. But I'm proud of the sidebar.
pansitan's newest denizens
Check out Pansitan's Splash Page to see the six new members who made it! Congrats, guys, especially to my sister Aycs, Micster, and Milkolate whom I don't know personally but who's blog I enjoy.
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Saturday, January 08, 2005
nothing profound, just an update
Okay, okay I know I haven't written anything inspired or substantial in over a week. Even my dad asks me everyday why I don't have any new entries. My mind has just been jello lately. I've been spending my afternoons playing with Ananda on her rubber, alphabet mat, or doing my New Year's cleaning which involves sifting through fossilized remains of junk that's been untouched and hidden for years in boxes and drawers (the other day, I found my sister's old pager with a neo-print of an exboyfriend stuck on to it. How's that for a relic?). I've emptied out 1/3 of my closet to give to tsunami victims, and even tossed in some pairs of old, new sneakers (meaning, purchased two yeares ago but never used).
My first week of 2005 was spent taking it easy. All I've been wanting to do it sleep. The holidays really took it's toll on me. Got sick right after Christmas then got sick again right after New Year's. I just recovered from a cough, but I've had some kind of eye infection since New Year's eve, first the right eye, and now the left. It is a pain waking up every morning to find my eye studded with jewels. I don't think it's catching because Nino hasn't caught it (and by all means, he should've by now).
I've been out of the house a total of once this 2005, to buy shoes for the wedding of a family friend. I ended up going on a shoe-binge and felt a little of that "shopper's guilt" by the time I got home. Ah well. I need shoes anyway.All I have are ratty old flip-flops and I never know what to wear to a fancy restaurant.
And last but not least, I bought myself a Wacom Intuos 2 drawing tablet. Aiyeeeeeee!!! I don't actually have it yet. The dealer said she'd have it by Monday ad I can pick it up then. I got it at a special price too, so I think I'm getting a good deal for my money. It was way cheaper than I thought it would be! I am so absolutely excited.
With the way this post is turning out, my mind is still obviously in jello mode. Therefore, I am disabling comments on this post. No use commenting on a post that says nothing. Ciao! Will write something better next time.
_muta woman
Friday, January 07, 2005
i'm just playing
i don't think I'll keep this template for long. I just wanted to see if I could do it. In the meantime, enjoy it. Either I'll put the old one back in or I'll change it altogether.
Look Ate Sienna, I learned how to splice images and make tables!
if you don't see it...
Well, you missed it. I took it down already hehe. Thanks to the people who commented though.
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Monday, January 03, 2005
invitation
There are 5 new blogger slots open on Pansitan.net. If you wish to be part of this community of Pinoy bloggers from all over the world and if you think you've got a good site, just send an e-mail to Ate Sienna at mmanaloto@charter.net!
Benefits of being part of Pansitan:
1) Your own webspace!
2) Lots of help from tech-guru Ate Sienna
3) Exposure (more hits on your counter!)
Goodluck! Kitakits sa Pansitan!
and another thing
I just redesigned Cat's blog. The new template should be up by today. If you're looking at the header with a sarong, beach slippers, and a calamansi sun, then that's the new one :-)
and lastly
My latest obsession! I knew I would benefit when I got my brother a Family Com for Christmas (I get to play all the old school games I grew up with!).
Aah, who could forget all those hours I spent playing Contra with The Code:up, up, down, down left, right, left, right, B,A, select, start.
(ALot of you may beg to differ and have your own version of it. But this is the proven 30 lives code. We tried it yesterday)
Don't forget to hit the sniper on top first!
One thing that makes Contra the best is the game's soundtrack. It's so...prog! I mentioned to Nino earlier this year that it'd be great if band could cover the Contra soundtrack. As it turned out, there's already a recording of the Contra theme released under a group called Vomitron! And it's awesome! We've been listening to it non-stop.
I found a neat page where you can download the soundtrack to every stage in Contra 1 in Midi form: The Almighty Guru.
I want a huge tatoo of this guy on my back! :-p
And remember, the Spread gun is the best. The Flamethrower sucks the most.
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just because i feel like writing
Wahaha, my first commercial! My first where I play of the leads at least. I was 18 years old! And I had chin-length, light brown hair (that was a mistake. I'm never going to do that again).
Before this, I had one line in one of the commercials in the "Jasper" Coke series, and another commercial for Citibank Clearcard where I was part of a large group.
This ad, wherein I spent two days with gunk on my face, was the one that got me, er...noticed. And kaboom, life changed and I was suddenly being broadcasted through a little, black box in people's living rooms. To think all I wanted was a little shopping money, too. Suddenly, I was plunged into the whole media thing... a change that was a little too much for me to handle at that time. It must've taken me over a year to get used to it, and to not make a disbelieving, "you-can't-possibly-be-serious" face everytime someone would ask me for an autograph.
Now I'm still "VJ Ala" even if I've been gone from MYX for a year. And when I host events, they still introduce me as a MYX veejay even though I haven't been on TV for more than a year.
Since it looks like I'm not going to lose the "VJ" from my name anytime soon (at least not to half of the Philippines), I'm trying to think of what else V and J can stand for other than "video jockey" (i.e. Very Jolog Ala, etc. ).
music royalty
I am always asked, "What's it like being the daughter of Jim Paredes?"
I always want to answer, "If anyone asks me that one more time, I'll puke".
But of course, I always end up saying, "Oh I can't really say. He's the only father I've ever known so I can't really compare can I?"
The truth is, it's rather fun being the offspring of music royalty. People tend to treat you with a certain reverence, especially musicians, and/or people who grew up listening to APO. I've even gone as far as to fancy myself as a kind of Liv Tyler or Theodora Richards. Then I bring myself down to earth by reminding myself that papa isn't exactly a rock star (maybe he's closer to a pop star, but not with the negative connotation that comes along with the term nowadays), and due to that fact, I don't think I'll be starring in any music videos soon a la Liv Tyler in Aerosmith's "Crazy". Ah, well.
I'm proud of my dad. I really am. My favorite APO songs are "Panalangin", "Ewan", "Wala Nang Hahanapin Pa", "American Junk", "Love is for Singing", "When I Met You", and all those other hits acoustic artists like to cover nowadays (weak covers, I must say, but that's just me). My sister and I sometimes joke that we'll never work, and just live off the royalties of my dad's hits for the rest of our lives, and in the future make money by releasing APO DVDs, APO shirts, and other merchandise (kind of like what Yoko Ono is doing now).
One awesome thing about growing up with a musician father is that we grew up knowing our music. As a kid, I knew all these artists and all these songs my classmates had never even heard of. Of course, like any normal kid, I did go through a pop, mainstream phase, and it was only later when I started appreciating all these artists I grew up hearing.
At age 5, I knew "Weather Report", although me and my sister mostly laughed at the group's music rather than listen to the music (we used to die laughing when we'd hear the odd intro of one of their albums). In gradeschool, I knew Quincy Jones, Steely Dan, Frank Sinatra songs, Frank Zappa, Queen, Beatles, and a whole bunch of other stuff my dad had lying around (my dad has the coolest CD collection. All my younger, musician friends are in awe of it). We also knew alot of world music, like his notorious CD that features Mongolian throat-singers (it sounds like a bunch of men expectorating), and alot of Brazillian artists like Joyce and Caetano Veloso.
We also grew up with a recording studio in our backyard and every week, there'd be bands and artists coming over to cut a song or an album.
Now that all three of us kids are older, I can say we were bred pretty well music-wise. We got alot of exposure to different things. We're all into our own thing, but one thing we all got was a good sense of discernment over what's good music and what's not. We're not music snobs. It's just that... we have class. Hahaha! How absolutely kapal of me to say that, but it's true. Most people you meet out there like any mainstream hit that comes along, which is not wrong at all. It's not wrong to like music. It's just that... there's so much more out there than, and people are just unaware of it and think that what they see on MTV or MYX is everything. I'm not anti-mainstream or anti-pop. It just so happens that most, not all but most, of the stuff they play on music TV or on radio is junk, same old beats, melodies, and unintelligent, over-used lyrics. It's great if a good song because pop or mainstream but most of the time it doesn't.
I should shut up before I start making enemies.
Anyway, read my next post.
